


Everytime We Say Goodbye

by fuckyoufrank



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Endgame, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, post 9x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 02:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyoufrank/pseuds/fuckyoufrank
Summary: Ian remembers every kiss he’s ever shared with Mickey. The quick pecks on the cheek; the frantic, biting and bruising makeouts; the slow, languid movements of their mouths against one another. He remembers them all, and he thinks of them often.This kiss though, it’s one of his favorites.Because kissing Mickey again is like lighting an old, dusty candle and throwing it into a pool of gasoline. Ian feels like he’s being swallowed by flames, and he can’t fucking get enough. His emotions are spiraling out in every direction, but he sure as shit refuses to ruin this moment by crying. He focuses instead on the warmth of Mickey’s body, on the wetness of Mickey's mouth as his tongue slides between Ian's lips. He focuses on the feeling of Mickey’s hand stroking the back of his neck, on pinning Mickey’s left wrist harder down into the mattress. He focuses on Mickey smiling into their kiss, making Ian feel something within himself that had been absent for so long he’d almost forgotten it. Almost.





	Everytime We Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins as episode 9x06 ends, following Ian and Mickey as they spend their first few days together in prison.  
> Feedback is much appreciated!

Ian remembers every kiss he’s ever shared with Mickey. The quick pecks on the cheek; the frantic, biting and bruising makeouts; the slow, languid movements of their mouths against one another. He remembers them all, and he thinks of them often.

This kiss though, it’s one of his favorites.

Because kissing Mickey again is like lighting an old, dusty candle and throwing it into a pool of gasoline. Ian feels like he’s being swallowed by flames, and he can’t fucking get enough. His emotions are spiraling out in every direction, but he sure as shit refuses to ruin this moment by crying _._ He focuses instead on the warmth of Mickey’s body, on the wetness of Mickey's mouth as his tongue slides between Ian's lips. He focuses on the feeling of Mickey’s hand stroking the back of his neck, on pinning Mickey’s left wrist harder down into the mattress. He focuses on Mickey smiling into their kiss, making Ian feel something within himself that had been absent for so long he’d almost forgotten it. Almost.

“Mickey _,”_  Ian speaks softly, trying not to sound too desperate. “Fuck, Mick.”

Ian pulls back just enough to rest his head against Mickey’s forehead, chest rising and falling with his own erratic breathing.

“Miss me?” Mickey asks, eyebrows raised with a smirk on his face that is so distinctly Mickey that Ian feels his heart skip a beat.

Ian missed him. So fucking much. He tried so hard to move on and continue building a life for himself, but Mickey’s absence had been heavy. It was lonely and empty. It was the constant searching for a purpose without ever finding an answer. It was chasing down religion without knowing who or what he was trying to find. It was the realization that no matter who Ian tried to love, he would leave anyone in a heartbeat if given the chance to be with Mickey again. For Ian, Mickey wasn’t destruction. He was love, he was passion. He was the missing piece in an otherwise hopeless life.

“A lot,” is the only thing Ian can bring himself to say. It’s true, but Ian mentally kicks himself for not being able to say what the fuck he’s really feeling.

“Good. You better have,” Mickey says. His face softens after a moment as he adds, “missed you, too.”

Ian feels warmth rising within his chest. He wishes that he could replace every single goodbye and heart-shattering memory with this fucking moment right now. He wishes that he could forget everything, but he can't ignore his burning need for an explanation.

When Mickey fled from the feds, he had no choice but to leave the country. Mexico made the most sense. When Ian chose to go back to Chicago, he knew that was it. They were done, and he had blown what he thought had been their final chance at being together. Ian felt guilty for missing him when the decision had been his own choice.

The whole thing was a big fat fucking lose/lose. Either Ian would have been on the run for the rest of his life, throwing away his career and unable to see his family ever again, or he lost Mickey. The weight of his choice and the death of his mother all at once had been the beginning of one of the worst downward spirals Ian ever experienced. He lost his job and further fucked up what he had with Trevor. He stopped taking his meds, or took them haphazardly when (and if) he thought about it. He never really told anyone, just let them believe whatever they chose to think.

Consequences aside, Ian had made his bed. He welcomed prison reluctantly because nothing else in his life made any goddamn sense. Prison would give him time to think and figure things out. He just wasn’t expecting those things to be… well, Mickey.

Enter Mickey, all clean-shaven and freshly cut hair and looking fucking beautiful and far healthier than when Ian had left him back at the Mexican border. But now Ian just needs to know why. 

So, he does what any rational person would do in this sort of situation and punches Mickey hard in the shoulder. “Why the fuck would you snitch to end up here?”

Mickey groans, mumbling “the fuck?” as he swats back at Ian’s arm.

“So I could wait for you, bitch,” Mickey says simply, staring up into Ian’s eyes. “Fuck else would I be doing here?”

Ian sighs, torn somewhere between feeling guilty and admittedly a little bit giddy. It isn’t really the answer he’s looking for, and so he tries again. “Did you get caught or did you turn yourself in?”

Mickey shakes his head, grabbing Ian’s face. “Ian, not now, okay? I’m here, you’re here. How ‘bout you shut your fucking mouth and kiss me like I know you want to?”

Ian wants to object, he wants to fucking know, but he also really doesn’t have the strength to argue with that.

“Hm? Gonna do it or just fucking stare all day?”

Ian smiles despite himself, looking into Mickey’s eyes for a lingering moment. Mickey moves a hand down to Ian’s chin, tilting it up to bring their mouths together again. Ian melts into the feeling, loses himself. It’s fucking ethereal, and Ian hasn’t felt anything like this since the last time he was with him. Their tongues tangle together as Ian slides one of his legs between Mickey’s thighs.

An inmate bangs on their door suddenly, causing the two men to pull apart with a startled jolt. The noise jars Ian and Mickey settles a hand on the back of his neck, grounding him.

“You’re okay,” Mickey speaks softly before Ian sits up besides him. “Gotta ignore ‘em, man. Douchebags ‘round here are all bored as fuck and always in everyone else’s business.”

Ian lets out a shaky breath, burying his face into Mickey’s neck. He takes in his scent, clinging to him. It’s comforting, smells and feels like home.

“It’s cool,” Ian finally says, trying to play it off and compose himself. “That probably would have ended with you bent over the bunk and my dick in your ass, so.”

He smirks, pleased with himself when Mickey frowns. “Oh, is that what would've happened?”

“Yeah, but we should probably wait until it’s dark so people aren’t using us as free porn,” Ian smiles, teasing. “Unless you’re into being watched now?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, turning towards the inmates standing outside of their cell. He throws up his middle finger. “Ay, fuck you!”

A guard appears then, breaking apart the congregation of men. He glances in at the two boys briefly before continuing on his way.

“Fucking pervs,” Mickey scoffs.

Silence falls heavily between them then, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. Ian almost forgot how crazy Mickey made him feel, in the most exhilarating way.

“You’ve got a tar pit on your head,” Mickey says suddenly, ruffling Ian’s hair.

“Fuck off,” Ian pulls away as he smooths his hands out across his head. “I had other plans in mind when I dyed it.”

“M’just messing with you. It ain’t that bad,” Mickey smiles, then shrugs. “Or we can shave it off. What kinda plans you mean?”

Ian sighs, looking at Mickey expectantly. “I don’t think I have to spell it out for you.”

When Ian headed for the train station before his trial, he had every intention of leaving. But Mexico was a very vague destination, and Ian had no idea where to begin looking for Mickey. There were too many what ifs; the biggest of them all arguably being whether or not Mickey would even want to see him again.

Mickey nods, understanding. “You would’ve had a hell of a time finding me, considering I was on my way back to Illinois.”

“Give it up for Captain Fuckin’ Obvious over here,” Ian chuckles, beginning a slow clap.

Mickey shoves at him playfully and Ian’s heart feels like it’s pounding out of its chest. Every time silence settles between them, he struggles to find the words. Mickey is looking at him like there is nothing and nobody else in the entire universe worthy of looking at, and it makes Ian’s head feel fuzzy.

“You hungry yet?” Mickey asks unexpectedly. “Food ain’t that bad. They’re still serving lunch now.”

Ian nods, following behind Mickey as he gets off the bunk and heads towards their door. Mickey must sense his apprehension, because he reaches out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. He exits the cell before Ian, throwing up his middle finger to the prying eyes around them. “Hope you enjoyed the show, nosey motherfuckers.”

They walk in silence to the cafeteria, a great deal of leering and whispering by fellow inmates as they pass by. Not only is Ian fresh meat, he’s also accompanied by a Milkovich, and it isn’t lost on him that everyone must still be just as shocked to see Mickey back in prison as he had been.

“That Mickey?” Asks an old, gruff-looking man.

“Who’s his pretty boyfriend?” Another man replies, questioning.

Ian walks tall as he passes them, looking ahead instead of making eye contact. Mickey, on the other hand, meets many pairs of eyes as he walks. He’s challenging, ready to take a swing at anyone who gives him a reason to.

A lot has changed in both of their lives, but a lot has stayed the same, too.

 

* * *

 

Prison food is kind of okay, as it turns out. Nothing special and definitely shitty compared to White Castle, but it could certainly be worse. Ian feels a little more at ease after getting a meal into his belly.

He watches Mickey eat, a pang in his chest as he briefly thinks about being back at the Gallagher house, wishing they could be there eating pizza and guzzling down cheap alcohol together. The last time he had a chance to do normal shit with Mickey seems like a fucking lifetime ago, if you could ever consider their relationship normal. He’ll take this though, even if it isn’t exactly a fairytale.

Mickey goes with Ian to check out the gym shortly after. Ian needs to blow off some steam, and wants to get himself into a routine like when he was back in County. He ignores Mickey’s protests, the older man not understanding why Ian needs to, as he puts it, “work the fuck out on his first day in prison.” 

Ian is lost in his own head, feeling a pleasant ache within his body as he works through different muscle groups. Arms, thighs, abs; he’s tried a little bit of everything. He hears Mickey speak suddenly, pulling him back from his mindless thoughts.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey waves his hands at a fellow inmate whose eyes have fixed themselves on Ian as he completes his round of bench presses, undershirt draped over the bench beside him. Ian sits up after a moment, not wanting an altercation to break out over something so trivial. Christ, he doesn’t need Mickey getting himself in trouble already.

The man gets up, holding out his hands as if to surrender as he takes a few steps closer.

“Not here to cause issues. It’s just hard to ignore newbies when they look like you,” he says with a shrug, speaking to Ian. There isn’t really any bite behind his words, and Ian doesn’t think he’s a threat. “Name is Dex, by the way.”

“Thanks, I think?” Ian says it like a question, not really sure how else to respond. “I’m Ian, and that’s Mickey.”

Ian sets a hand on Mickey’s shoulder as he sits down beside him, feeling Mickey settle down under his touch.

“Milkovich, right?” Dex questions as he turns his attention to Mickey. “We did time in the same joint before you busted out. I got transferred here with a few other guys after all that, with everyone losing their shit over such a big security breach. Lots of people talking about you these days. Can’t believe you got yourself locked up again. Word travels fast, y'know?”

“Not sure what you’ve been hearing, but I turned myself in. Didn’t get myself caught or any stupid shit like that,” Mickey says defensively.

Ian takes note, he did turn himself in.

Mickey has always been stubborn. He would never want people thinking he ended up back in prison by any means other than choice. He’s too goddamn proud for that shit. Plus, it was a choice, albeit one that Ian still can’t wrap his mind around.

“What would make you choose to give yourself up?” Dex asks genuinely. There is no judgement to his tone, just curiosity.

Ian swallows, feeling somewhat awkward. Part of him still doesn’t want to believe that he’s the reason, but he’s pretty sure he already knows.

Mickey sighs, looking at Ian for a moment. There is a twinkle in his eye, and Ian realizes that he’s holding his breath as he waits for Mickey’s answer.

“Ian and I go back a ways,” Mickey begins hesitantly. “Saw on the news that he got himself into some trouble. I turned myself in, made some deals and shit when I found out that he was gonna do time.”

Maybe it isn’t the answer that Dex expected, but he gives Mickey a soft, sympathetic smile. Ian finds himself smiling too.

“You’re lucky to be here together,” Dex says simply. “Gonna hit the showers. See you around, fellas.”

Ian wishes he could kiss Mickey right there, but he figures that isn’t a good idea. Mickey looks at him, his expression somewhat unsure.

“Thanks for coming back,” Ian begins, speaking quietly. “But you shouldn’t have done that shit just for me.”

Mickey tenses, punching Ian in the arm without warning. It takes Ian by surprise and he shoves at Mickey’s chest on instinct, standing up to grab him by the collar at the same time Mickey jumps toward him.

“Fuck you, Gallagher. Wasn’t your decision to make,” Mickey snaps.

They’re standing too close, Ian’s hands wrapped around the yellow fabric of Mickey’s jumpsuit. Ian doesn’t miss Mickey’s eyes darting down to his lips.

“Why the fuck do you think I’m here?” Mickey questions vehemently. “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be. So shut up and quit feeling fucking sorry for me, and quit feeling fucking sorry for yourself.”

Ian tightens his grip, pulling Mickey impossibly close. “You were out, Mickey. Out of prison, and out of the shit-hole Southside. You were fucking free. Why give that up?”

A nearby guard approaches them, and Mickey sees him from the corner of his eye.

“We got a problem here?” The guard questions.

“Does it look like we got a problem?” Mickey retorts, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Go find a fucking gang bang to break up or something.”

Ian releases Mickey, relaxing the tension in his shoulders. The guard rolls his eyes and walks away, seemingly more bored than anything else.

“You think there’s really a gang bang going on somewhere? Think I could get in on that?” Ian asks with a grin, satisfied when Mickey pushes him, this time without any impact behind it.

“You’re a dick. Fuck off with that shit. Everyone in this joint wants you for a fucking full-course meal. Don’t let people hear you make jokes like that unless you plan on letting them.”

Ian nods apologetically. “I’m sorry. But can you please not change the subject?”

“I didn’t,” Mickey says, sounding frustrated. “Mexico was fucking hell, okay? I wasn’t exactly living on a beach or in some fucking vacation home. I was a fugitive, and involved in a lot of shit. It wasn’t freedom. Not to mention, you would have gotten your pasty ass killed there. If not, then death by sun poisoning or some shit.”

Ian scoffs. “I’m not stupid enough to die from sun poisoning, Mickey.”

He isn’t really sure if that’s true. He is pretty pale, after all. He also isn’t sure that he wouldn’t have gotten killed by something or someone else. Touché, Ian thinks.

“I wanted you to come with me because I missed you. I fucking loved you,” Mickey’s voice wavers slightly. “But it was selfish of me, man. Those days leading up to the border were some of the best days of my life, but you have no idea how fucking glad I am that you chose not to go. I was blind to that at the time. I just wanted to be with you.”

Ian’s chest feels tight. He doesn’t think there’s been a single day since Mickey left that he hasn’t crossed his mind. Ian wanted to go with him more than anything, but he also couldn’t bring himself to give up the rest of his life. It was the hardest decision he ever made. Every day since, he wondered if he made the wrong one.

“I went manic after you left,” Ian admits. “It was gradual, and I didn’t realize it was happening. Or maybe I did, I don’t know. I thought what I was doing made sense.”

“Gay Jesus?” Mickey quips, eyebrow raised. “You were manic and riding an ego boost is what you were doing.”

Ian chuckles, an embarrassed blush creeping down his neck. “Wish you hadn’t seen all of that shit.”

“There were videos everywhere. Imagine my fuckin’ surprise seeing you preaching at churches and blowing up vans,” Mickey says. “You seem… more like you, right now.”

“I just wanted to have a purpose,” Ian sighs. “Y’know, when you were in prison I tried to shut myself off completely because it was hard for me to deal with. When you busted out, things were real again. And then when you left, or when I left you, I kind of lost my shit."

Mickey is staring at Ian thoughtfully, and sets a hand on the side of his face gently. He kisses him suddenly, right in the middle of the gym, pulling a startled groan from the back of Ian’s throat. They are broken apart by a guard yelling at them to knock it off as several inmates begin jeering and whistling around them. It’s the same guard from several minutes earlier.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Mickey huffs, raising his voice. “Fucking boring around here for everyone or what?”

The guard walks towards them, causing both men to tense up before him. “Listen, cool it okay? I have a husband at home, and I fucking get it, but you gotta keep it low. Plenty of sex around here, gang bangs included-” he adds, glancing pointedly at Mickey, “-but not right out in public. There are some serious assholes around here that _will_ cause trouble for you if they see you pulling that shit.”

Mickey huffs impatiently, glaring at the guard. “Ain’t my first fuckin’ rodeo in prison, chief.”

“Then you know better, so knock it off.”

Mickey nods with an irritated roll of his eyes, turning back to Ian.

“You done working out?” He asks Ian, looking in the direction of their cell. Ian just nods stupidly, following suit as Mickey storms off. He doesn’t miss that Mickey hands the guard something from his pocket right before walking away.

 

* * *

 

The cell door slams shut behind Ian and Mickey is already crowding into his space, walking him backwards towards the wall.

“Guess we’re done talking?” Ian says, grinning as Mickey closes in on him. He’s still shirtless, vaguely realizing that he left his undershirt back in the gym.

“I wanna fucking kiss you when I want, and fuck you when I want, and suck your cock when I fucking wanna suck it. And if I want to kiss you in the goddamn gym I will fucking do it,” Mickey grabs Ian’s face, kisses him hard. He slides his tongue into Ian’s mouth and presses him back against the wall of their cell. He groans, breaking the kiss to whisper in Ian’s ear. “If people want to watch you fuck me, they can fucking watch. If people want to hear me scream your name while you’re balls fucking deep in my ass, they can fucking listen.”

“Oh-fucking-kay,” is all Ian can say before Mickey’s mouth is on his again. He’s fucking turned on, unsure if they can really even do this right now, but very sure that he doesn’t have the ability to give a shit.

Ian really doesn’t know prison etiquette for fucking your cellmate, but it’s really hard to care when said cellmate is grinding against his body with his tongue shoved in his mouth. He’s hard, so fucking hard, and Mickey isn’t showing any signs of slowing his roll.

“I slipped the guard some blow, okay? We’re good ‘til morning,” Mickey says reassuringly. “And speaking of blow, get that fucking cock out for me.”

Ian does, and Mickey drops to his knees.

“Get these off,” Mickey growls, tugging Ian’s shorts the rest of the way down. “Want you in my mouth right fucking now.”

Mickey stares up at him, watching him closely. His eyes are filled with desire, love, lust, everything. And it’s all for Ian. Ian, who is so fucking hard it hurts, as he waits for Mickey to shut the fuck up and put his mouth to better use.

And fuck, he does.

Mickey takes the tip of Ian’s dick into his mouth, tastes that he’s already leaking. He sucks Ian down, tries to take all of him. It’s been a while, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping him any. Mickey keeps his eyes locked with Ian’s, pushing him further down his throat.

“Fuck,” Ian growls, his head falling back. “Holy fuck, Mickey.”

Mickey pulls off, causing Ian to whine at the loss of contact.

“Fuck my mouth, Gallagher. Shove that cock down my throat,” Mickey licks from the tip back down to the base, eyes still locked with Ian’s. “Fucking choke me with it.”

Ian is sure as shit going to lose it. Mickey’s filthy sex talk is kind of a new thing, and holy fuck it’s really working for him. Mickey is begging to be wrecked and Ian wants to give him absolutely anything and everything he wants. 

“You want this cock, Mickey?” Ian purrs, finding his confidence. He taps his dick against Mickey’s mouth, earning a deliciously desperate little sound from the back of Mickey's throat. He loves when Ian talks dirty, and that makes Ian love it too. “Open up, baby. Fucking take it for me.”

Mickey does, without hesitation, grabbing the back of Ian’s thighs to pull him closer. Ian tests it out, thrusts his hips forward until Mickey makes a slight gagging sound. He doesn’t pull off, won’t let Ian go anywhere except further down his throat.

Ian struggles to watch Mickey, fighting to keep his eyes open. He pulls back and thrusts forward again, feeling it when Mickey groans around him. Ian pulls at his hair, just long enough to tug on, building a rhythm until he’s fucking in and out of his mouth at a steady pace. The more Mickey sucks around him, the harder he goes.

“ _Mickey_ ,” Ian gasps, tightening his fist around Mickey’s hair. He’s not going to last much longer, wants to at least give a warning even though he already knows how much Mickey loves when he comes down his throat. “Fuck, m’close. Gonna swallow me, Mick?”

Mickey nods, kind of, digging his fingers further into Ian’s thighs where he’s still holding him steady. Fuck, Ian wants to make this last but he can’t. Mickey’s mouth is too wet, too hot. His tongue is moving in all the right ways and he’s sucking like a fucking pro and holy fuck, in another instant Ian is coming hard and fast like a category five fucking hurricane.

Ian’s knees nearly give out, Mickey being the only force keeping him upright. He’s gasping and moaning and saying Mickey’s name like it’s the only word he’s ever fucking known. Mickey is sputtering, swallows as much as he can before releasing Ian’s cock and wiping the back of his hand over his swollen lips. Mickey smiles, standing up slowly and putting a hand on the side of Ian’s face. He leans in, lips closing over Ian’s in an obscene kiss. Ian tastes himself all over Mickey’s mouth, not giving a single fuck about anything other than making Mickey feel the best he’s ever felt.

Mickey pulls back, eyes roaming down Ian’s body. He’s breathing heavily as he finally slides his jumpsuit off, tossing it to the ground. Ian’s still in a post-orgasmic haze, trying to catch his mind and body up to where Mickey needs him to be.

“Missed this body. You’ve bulked up,” Mickey says, biting Ian’s lip as he slides his hand down his chest to his abs. Ian kisses him again, grabbing at the bottom of Mickey’s tank and pulling it over his head. He steps forward, backing Mickey up until the back of his legs hit the bottom bunk. Ian shoves him down a little too roughly, climbing on top of him and diving right back in to lose himself in the taste of Mickey’s lips.

“Missed yours too,” Ian says, words muffled by Mickey’s mouth. It’d be hard not to notice. Mickey’s body is a little bit bigger too, and a little bit stronger since the last time Ian saw him. It’s fucking hot, and Ian wants all of it.

Mickey groans, his hands now roaming down Ian’s muscular back. "You ever gonna explain the naked chick tattoo?"

Ian cringes, suddenly wondering how that hadn't come up before now. He grimaces before sharply replying, "not right now," and feeling relieved when Mickey seems to let it go. 

Ian is still working on getting hard again, but lying naked on top of Mickey is certainly helping. They kiss and kiss and kiss some more, and Ian can feel how hard Mickey is, how hard he’s been since long before Ian came down his throat. He wants to give him everything he’s got, fuck him hard the way he knows Mickey loves so goddamn much. 

“Missed fucking you,” Ian whispers into Mickey’s mouth, speaking between kisses. “Missed your hands, your mouth, your ass. Missed your slutty, desperate noises when I’m making you come apart.”

Ian’s got one hand gripping Mickey’s ass now, and their eyes meet again. He slides his other hand between their bodies, wrapping around Mickey’s cock and squeezing. “Missed your fucking cock, too.”

Mickey closes his eyes, mouth falling open with relief. Desire pools within the pit of Ian’s stomach, watching Mickey’s reaction, feeling that his cock is already wet and leaking around Ian’s fingers.

“Fuck, Ian. Need you to get the fuck in me,” Mickey says with a shaky voice. Ian nods, dragging his tongue down his neck and sucking. He bites down gently, teasing at Mickey’s sensitive skin.

Ian needs to be inside Mickey like fucking yesterday, but it’s also been a while and he doesn’t want to hurt him. They’ve fucked dry before, but really only when they were doing it regularly, or when Mickey got bossy and needy enough to sort of just fucking make him.

“Need some lube though, Mick.”

Mickey reaches awkwardly under his pillow before tossing a small bottle of lube at Ian. “There, bitch. M’always prepared. Now fucking do something with it.”

Ian sits up then, legs resting on the outside of each of Mickey’s thighs. Mickey looks at him with a raised eyebrow, holding his hands up expectantly.

“You’re impatient,” Ian says matter-of-factly as he grabs the bottle of lube from beside them. He pops the lid open, smearing some across his fingers. He notices the eagerness in Mickey’s eyes, in the way he flicks his tongue out over his bottom lip.

“Well it’s been a fucking minute, Gallagher,” Mickey snaps through gritted teeth.

Ian hums thoughtfully. He reaches around to slide a lubed finger along the crease of Mickey’s ass, causing Mickey to desperately push back against Ian’s hand. Ian leans down then, eye-level with Mickey’s cock. He slowly drags his tongue from the base up to the tip, his green eyes looking up into Mickey’s bright baby blues. 

Mickey was never one for foreplay, but Ian really loves teasing him. Mickey can deny it all he wants, but the way he whimpers and fists the bedsheets gives him away. Quick fucks under the bleachers and in the baseball field dugout were more of their thing once upon a time, when they didn’t have the luxury of taking it slow. Here in their prison cell, time suddenly isn’t an issue anymore.

Still, Ian agrees, it has definitely been a minute. He shoves his index finger inside Mickey suddenly, biting his lip as Mickey’s body tenses around him.

Ian watches Mickey’s face as he slowly moves his finger, desperate for more. He knows he can take another, so he slides in his middle finger too, and the noise Mickey makes goes straight to Ian’s cock. 

“Fuck, Mick. You’re a slut aren’t you?” Ian says, curling his fingers just a little bit.

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey says on an exhaled breath.

Ian fucks his fingers in and out a few times, starts going a little faster. Mickey’s making hot, breathy sounds the faster he goes, and Ian decides that he’s finally satisfied. He could add another finger or two, but he knows damn well Mickey doesn’t want him to. He removes his fingers, settling his body back on top of Mickey’s. Ian kisses him hard, shoving his tongue back into his mouth.

Something about kissing Mickey has always driven Ian wild. Mickey kisses back like he’s starving, open mouthed and dirty and making Ian throb painfully hard between their bodies. Ian wants permission, knows he has it when Mickey slides his legs up around Ian’s waist. Mickey’s dick is still so fucking hard between them and Ian has never needed anything more.

“Ian, fuck. Fucking get in me _now_ ,” Mickey practically begs him. Ian listens, shoving himself into Mickey with a grunt, watching as Mickey’s eyes squeeze shut and his mouth falls open. Fuck, holy fuck, he never wants to forget that face.

Mickey likes it from behind, but there’s a different kind of intimacy when they fuck face to face. It’s been too goddamn long, and watching Mickey beneath him is Ian’s favorite fucking thing. From the look on his face, right now, Ian fucking him like this is Mickey’s favorite thing too.

Ian starts off fucking him good and slow, rolling his hips down steadily. He resists the urge to go faster, wanting to make this last as long as he can. The sound of Mickey’s moaning reverberates through Ian’s entire body, sending a delectable shiver down his spine.

“Fuck,” Ian gasps before finding Mickey’s lips again and sliding his tongue back inside. He fucks into him a little harder, a little more desperately, and feels it when Mickey’s body trembles around him.

“Faster, Ian. Fuck, feels so good. Fucking pound me,” Mickey begs, voice sounding broken and breathless. "Harder, please."

Ian feels his stomach clench at Mickey’s words, thrusting his hips harder as he speeds up his rhythm, giving Mickey exactly what he needs. Ian lifts Mickey's legs up higher around his waist, bracing himself against the mattress to build up momentum. The new angle turns Mickey into a pliant, whimpering mess and _fucking hell_ , it makes Ian feel like a fucking animal. His chest feels like it’s about to burst, body burning against Mickey’s touch as his fingers scratch down Ian’s back. He hasn’t felt this much in months, maybe even years. He and Mickey fit like a puzzle, their bodies reacting to one another, unrelenting.

This is hardly what Ian expected his first day in prison to be like. This isn't what Ian expected any day in prison to be like. Ian’s list of regrets is a lengthy one, but he regrets nothing more than walking out of Mickey’s life. He has a chance to get his shit together now. He has a chance to get his shit together with Mickey, once and for all. All this time he was looking for something- for God, for love, for  _something_. All of it lead him back where he was meant to be. Against all odds, back where he belongs, with Mickey beneath him and wrapped in his arms.

With Mickey moaning into his mouth.

With Mickey’s thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deep, deep, deeper inside.

With Mickey’s hips rocking hard against his, matching the punishing power of his thrusts.

With Mickey, always. Fucking Mickey, the love of his fucking life.

Ian’s rhythm falters slightly, overwhelmed and teetering over the edge. Mickey’s head falls back and his body goes tense, the way it always does when he’s about to come.

Mickey's voice breaks as he cries out Ian's name. “So fucking good, _fuck_ , you feel so fucking good-”

In another instant Mickey is tightening around Ian's cock and Ian feels his entire body ignite, vision going white. He spills into Mickey, fucking him erratically through both of their orgasms. Coming with Mickey again feels like pure, raw, insurmountable bliss. Ian’s nerves are on fire, his body trembling as Mickey moans his name over and over and over again.

Fuck religion, fuck Gay Jesus, fuck God and whatever the fuck else he thought he was looking for. Mickey is the only heaven Ian has ever known.

 

* * *

 

Ian wakes up slowly, a lot of thoughts attempting to filter through his brain at once. His mind is still reeling at the fact that the last 24 hours weren’t a dream. He feels warm and content, snuggled against Mickey’s back, their legs tangled together on Mickey’s tiny bottom bunk. Mickey stirs beside him, and Ian pulls him in closer, breathing him in. What a fucking night.

Mickey yawns, stretching out next to him. “Mornin’, sunshine.” 

“Hey,” Ian says. “Morning to you too.”

“You sleep good?” Mickey questions, turning to meet Ian’s face.

“Like a baby,” Ian smiles. And he really, really did. The bunk isn’t the comfiest, but Mickey makes up for what it lacks.

Ian closes his eyes sleepily as Mickey reaches out to gently set a hand on the side of his face. It’s Ian’s first morning waking up in prison and instead of feeling scared and lonely, he actually feels… fuck, he feels happy. He has no idea when he last felt real happiness. It’s good, so incredibly fucking good.

“Wanna grab breakfast with me before I gotta work?” Mickey asks, pulling Ian from his thoughts. Ian’s eyes are still closed, but he hears the older man yawn tiredly.

“Mhm, yeah. I gotta figure out when I’m starting too. And what I’m gonna be doing,” Ian sighs.

He doesn’t really mind working. He can’t imagine spending two years anywhere without at least having some form of labor to keep him busy.

“Probably construction shit with me,” Mickey yawns again. “Least I hope so, so I can watch your sweaty muscles lifting shit all day.”

Ian chuckles, hopping off the bunk. He stretches his arms above his head, flexing his muscles a little to drive Mickey’s point home. He can feel Mickey’s eyes on him, drinking in the sight of his body. He glances to where Mickey is still lying down, watches him lick his bottom lip.

“You see something you like down there?” Ian teases, grabbing a fresh jumpsuit from the top bunk and swatting it at Mickey’s leg. Mickey lunges forward and grabs him by the waist, pulling him down onto the bunk, causing both men to hit the wall beside them. Ian grunts, fighting for control. He grabs Mickey’s wrists, pressing them down above their heads.

“Tough guy, huh?” Mickey says, panting. He kisses Ian hard on the mouth without warning, sucking on his bottom lip. It catches Ian off guard, eliciting a needy moan into Mickey’s mouth. Ian squeezes onto his wrists tighter as he rolls his hips down.

“Fuck, Gallagher. Don’t do that to me right now,” Mickey says somberly. “Gotta eat and get to work.”

“You started it,” Ian grumbles. He knows they can’t fuck around until later, but fucking hell he really wants to. He sighs, planting one last kiss on Mickey’s lips before getting up again. “So what’s for breakfast?”

Mickey shrugs. “Oatmeal, cereal, bread,” he pauses and smirks. “Some real gourmet options. Y’know, since we don’t got enough time for anything more filling.” 

Ian tries to fight back a grin. Was that a sex joke? Mickey stands up and stretches, raising an eyebrow with a smirk on his face that Ian knows well. Yes, definitely a sex joke.

“We’ll have a better meal later,” Ian promises, winking. Yeah, he can make jokes too.

Ian takes a step forward and grabs Mickey’s ass, pleased to see Mickey’s face turning a bright crimson as he kisses him on the cheek. Mickey doesn’t let him get away that easy, pulling him in for a proper kiss on the mouth. It’s filled with more passion and a lot more tongue than Ian expected, leaving him flushed and a little bit winded. When Mickey pulls back, Ian’s got a shit-eating grin on his face that he can’t quite knock off.

Mickey’s sporting an almost shy smile on his face as he gets ready to leave, and Ian doesn’t miss the fact that he’s still blushing like a schoolgirl. He shoots Ian the finger as he exits their cell, and Ian just keeps smiling like a fool. It hits him like a bullet to the chest that he’s still so fucking in love it’s almost disgusting, and it’s spreading hot throughout his body like a fever. It’s not like he ever stopped loving Mickey, but loving him properly is not something he ever had the luxury of. 

Nobody else has ever come close to making Ian feel like this, and he’s fairly fucking certain that nobody else ever will.

 

* * *

 

While Mickey is off working, Ian tries to spend his day productively. He finds out that he will in fact be working construction, but isn’t due to start for another two days. He hits the gym again, hoping to pass the time by keeping busy for a few hours.

For the most part, Ian keeps to himself. A few people pass him glances, but for a while nobody really bothers him. He spots Dex with a small group of guys, giving him a cordial nod before continuing a round of sit-ups.

He does a surprising amount of thinking whenever he works out, and he’s certainly got a lot to think about right now. It’s been a long time since he’s been with Mickey. Their relationship was always unconventional, always sort of forbidden. But it’s different now. He knows they still have to maintain some level of discretion, but he also knows that in some twisted way, this is what it would be like to live together. This is what it would be like to be in a real relationship out in the world together. He realizes for the first time that he and Mickey finally have the chance at a future.Together _._

Stuck in his own head for quite some time, he's suddenly interrupted by a large, bearded inmate standing before him. His arms are folded over his chest, and Ian can tell he’s doing his best to look menacing. He stands up slowly, meeting the man’s eyes.

“You Ian Gallagher?” The man questions. 

Ian narrows his eyes, standing a little taller. “Who wants to know?”

“Heard from some guys back in County that you caused quite an uproar when you were there. Had yourself a ho strike going on, huh? How are we gonna make sure that don’t happen here? We won’t be taking orders from no fucking queer.”

Ian feels anger bubbling up within him, but tries to keep his composure. “Easy. You can respect your fellow inmates and not force anyone to do shit they aren’t down with.” 

The man clicks his tongue, grabbing for Ian’s wrist but missing as Ian yanks his arm away. 

“Or, I could get you back to my cell over in the West Wing and teach you a real lesson about respect. How’s that sound to you, Ian Gallagher?”

Ian’s blood is boiling now. He was warned about the West Wing, as well as the inmates that inhabited it, but he hadn’t expected any of them to actively seek him out. Fucking hell, it’s only day two. Staying out of trouble shouldn’t be this much of a damn chore. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he also isn’t about to yield to anyone. Especially not like this.

“Sounds like you’re seriously overcompensating for your fragile masculinity,” Ian snaps back.

Several men have gathered around, watching, including Dex and his buddies. Ian hears them chuckling at his words and feels a sense of solidarity. He hopes he isn’t just imagining it.

“The fuck you say to me?” The man throws a punch, narrowly missing Ian as he ducks down quickly. He knees the man in the crotch before swinging his fist, colliding hard with his jaw.

The man groans in pain, reaching in his pocket as the pain from Ian’s impact subsides. He slashes forward with a shiv in hand, yelling in frustration as Ian drops to the ground in one swift motion to roll out of his reach. It takes Ian a moment to realize that the shiv caught his arm, and he winces in pain as an unpleasant stinging sensation sets in. It’s nothing more than a surface wound, but blood is still dripping down his skin and it burns like a bitch.

“Stabbing me with a fucking shiv isn’t gonna make me fuck you,” Ian says, kneeling on the ground a fair distance away. “And it’s sure as fuck not gonna get you respect.” 

“What it’s gonna get you is a fucking deathwish,” Ian hears Mickey’s voice, suddenly standing behind the disgruntled inmate.

Mickey lunges forward, capturing him in a headlock before wrestling him to the ground. Ian has no idea how long Mickey’s been there, but suddenly feels overwhelmed with relief. He uses Mickey's distraction as the perfect opportunity to knock the shiv out of the man’s hand, quickly snatching it from the ground beside him. He backs away carefully, watching as Mickey kicks the man directly in the face.

“You don’t fuck with Ian and you don’t fuck with me," Mickey kneels down beside him, grabbing him by the hair and holding his head up. "Unless you wanna be bent over with that blade shoved so far up your ass you can taste it.” 

Ian takes a few steps forward, leaning down so he’s close to the man’s face. “Getting the shit kicked out of you must be embarrassing,” Ian sneers. He waves the shiv, shrugging. “You couldn’t take down a couple of queers, even with a weapon? What a dishonor to your homophobic, heathen friends.”

Ian punches him in the face without passing him another glance, hard enough to make his fist hurt. He wipes blood from his own arm on the man’s shirt before turning and walking away.

“Get the fuck out of here," Mickey sneers. "And make sure you tell Terry and his buddies that you got your ass kicked by his gay fucking son and his gay fucking son’s boyfriend."

Ian’s heart swells at the word _boyfriend_ although now is definitely not the time to focus on that. He makes a mental note that this man must be a friend of Terry’s, and yeah, that certainly makes a fuck ton of sense. 

Mickey drops the man’s head to the ground carelessly, smoothing out his jumpsuit before paying him one final smirk.

 

* * *

 

After a visit to the prison’s infirmary, Ian’s arm is bandaged and he is sent on his way. Back in their cell, he’s flopped down on his bunk, staring up at the dark, bland ceiling with his hands folded over his chest. Lights have been out for nearly twenty minutes, but this is the most awake Ian has felt all goddamn day.

“You awake up there?” Mickey asks from the bunk beneath him, chuckling when Ian leans over the side to peer down at him.

“Hi,” Ian grins.

Mickey smiles back tiredly when he meets Ian’s eyes. “Hi, back. C’mere.”

Ian swings his legs over the side of his bed and hops down, climbing into the bottom bunk beside Mickey. He closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist and pulling him in. They kiss languidly for a few minutes, Mickey’s body melting into Ian’s touch. 

“What the fuck were you thinking today, Gallagher?” Mickey asks, breaking their kiss. “You really got yourself into a fight on day two? The first time we’ve been apart since you got here and I’m already coming to save your ass.”

“Easy, Prince Charming. I wasn’t  _looking_ for a fight and I was handling it just fine on my own,” Ian says stubbornly.

Mickey smiles softly, poking at Ian’s bandaged arm. “Just fine on your own, huh?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Ian begins. “But, things went a lot fucking better with us together.”

Mickey nods, and there’s a look in his eyes that Ian can’t quite place. 

“So, on the subject of being better together, you called me your boyfriend today,” Ian says suddenly. 

"Fuck you is what I called you," Mickey scoffs. His face turns an even brighter red than it had earlier that morning. Even in the darkened room, Ian can see it.

“Do you want that?” Ian asks. He’s pushing a boundary that he knows may be a sore subject to cross.

Mickey tenses, and Ian can feel that he’s becoming uncomfortable. “I’m fucking here, ain’t I? Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

Ian nods. The talking thing isn’t working great, so he pushes Mickey over and rolls on top of him, pinning his wrists against the mattress. He ghosts his lips over Mickey’s, feeling Mickey suck in a deep breath beneath him.

“Will you?” Ian asks against Mickey’s mouth.

“Huh?” Mickey asks, sounding flustered and confused.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Ian elaborates, his eyes locked on Mickey’s. “And give me a real chance to make things right between us.”

Mickey raises an eyebrow. “You sound real fucking gay.” 

“I got news for you,” Ian whispers. “We’re both real fucking gay. I can remind you, if you forgot.”

“So remind me,” Mickey challenges.

Ian’s throat goes dry, heat rising within him. He’s gone from feeling somewhat emotional to something else entirely.

Ian wraps a hand around Mickey’s neck then, relishing in the choked moan that gets caught in the back of Mickey’s throat. ”Why, Mickey? You and I both know that you can still feel me from last night.” 

Mickey swallows under Ian’s grip, eyes fluttering closed as Ian slides his free hand inside Mickey’s boxers and wraps it around his cock. He’s already hard between their bodies, and Ian’s stomach clenches at the way Mickey’s head falls back against the mattress.

“You let all your cellmates touch you? Put their lips on you?” Ian questions, kissing down Mickey’s jaw. He removes his hand from Mickey’s neck to suck a dark bruise into the skin, biting down a little too hard. “You let them mark you up like this?”

Mickey is fighting back strangled moans, fisting the sheets beneath them. Ian can tell he’s fighting to remain composed, but he’s losing the battle quickly. Ian slides his hand up and down Mickey’s cock slowly, teasing. He moves his lips to Mickey’s mouth, kissing him fervently as he wraps his free hand back around Mickey’s neck.

“You let them choke you? Taste you?” Ian whisper-talks through open mouth kisses, between tangled tongues and Mickey’s desperate, broken sounds.

Ian’s assault on Mickey’s mouth doesn’t stop as he jerks his cock at a steadier pace, squeezing a little too hard and moving a little too rough. The grip on his neck has tightened, maybe not on purpose, and Mickey’s groans are louder now. His body is trembling under Ian and holy fuck is it hot.

“I know you don’t,” Ian whispers, teasing Mickey’s bottom lip between his teeth. “And I know you don’t let them fuck you. Not like you let me fuck you.”

Mickey comes suddenly, a violent shake ripping through his body. He spurts out around Ian’s hand, gasping and grabbing Ian’s face to kiss him forcefully. Mickey controls the kiss, licking into Ian’s mouth, making him moan into it. Fuck, Ian loves when Mickey kisses like this. He feels Mickey smile against his lips, and it makes his heart pound harder within his chest.

“Jesus fuck,” Mickey says on an exhaled breath. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Ian feels triumphant and smug and he knows it shows, but he can’t help it. He’s staring at Mickey with a cocky smirk plastered across his face. 

“You look so hot, all fucked out and dazed for me,” Ian grins as he trails his fingers down Mickey’s arm. 

Mickey lifts his middle finger, although his eyes remain closed with a euphoric smile on his face. “Tell ya what, man. You wanna play house while we’re here together, fine. I’ll be your boyfriend.”

Ian frowns, considering Mickey's words. This isn’t a prison thing. This isn’t a “sure I’ll be your boyfriend since we’re stuck here together” thing. The implication is frustrating. He gets it, but why would Mickey bother getting his ass locked back up if he was going to pull this now? Maybe he’s overthinking it, and maybe they don’t need a label. But, now Ian really wants that label. He briefly wishes that being arrogantly stubborn wasn't a shared trait between them. 

“My prison boyfriend or my _boyfriend_ boyfriend?”

Mickey opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow. “Just, I don’t know, your fucking boyfriend? The guy you’re fucking, whatever.” 

Ian can see right through the walls that Mickey has thrown up all around himself, just like he has seen through them since he was fifteen. Mickey has hardly ever just been _that guy Ian’s fucking._ Maybe on the surface, sure. But it was always more than that, and it sure as shit is more than that now.

“Mick, listen. Maybe talking about feelings isn’t on the table right now but I don’t want this to just be a prison thing. I don’t know if you really thought that’s all it would be, but-“

Mickey cuts Ian off abruptly, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss. “This is really still the only thing that shuts you the fuck up isn’t it?”

“Yeah, well, you’ve always been better at shoving your tongue in my mouth than you are at talking,” Ian smirks against Mickey’s lips.

“You don’t get it, man," Mickey sighs. "You’re out of here in two years, probably more like eighteen months if you keep your nose clean. You know damn well when you leave, I’m not coming with you.” 

Ian feels suddenly discouraged. He rolls off of Mickey and sits up with his back against the wall. “No, I don’t know. Because you haven’t told me.”

Mickey sits up too, and Ian can feel his eyes on him. Ian hadn’t really thought about Mickey’s sentence being longer than his. He’d been too over the moon about seeing him again to actually think about the logistics.

“Ian, my case isn’t closed yet. I may be stuck in this shithole for six years longer once your ass is out,” Mickey explains. There’s a sadness in his voice that makes Ian’s chest ache terribly.

“Fuck. Six years?” Ian repeats, hoping he misheard. He knows he didn't.

“Best case scenario is four years in, four years parole. They went easy on me but it still don’t mean I’m walking outta here when you are. You don’t have to do me any fuckin' favors by waiting, man. I’m not expecting you to.”

Ian groans, growing more and more agitated. “Come the fuck on, Mickey. You didn’t voluntarily get your ass sent back to prison for us to be a temporary thing.”

“Calm down, Ian. I took a big fucking chance coming here for you," Mickey says. "I had no idea what to expect. I didn’t know what your mental state was or if you’d even be down to see me. For all I knew, you still had a boyfriend waiting for you.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Ian says tersely. He’s frustrated, but he also gets it, and that maybe frustrates him more. “My last boyfriend was the same guy I ditched when you busted out of prison. We never really got back together after that. I tried, but I also didn’t blame him. And you know what? I didn’t even feel guilty for doing what I did. I will always choose you and that’s what it fucking comes down to.”

It’s the honest-to-God truth, whether Mickey believes him or not. Ian never felt guilty for running off with Mickey. He felt bad for hurting Trevor, but never guilty. Those few days with Mickey were the most passion and exhilaration Ian had felt in so long, and those were things he just never had with Trevor. Or anyone else, period. He tried to right his wrongs, tried to gain back Trevor’s trust, but everything sort of blew up instead. Literally.

“What about when it’s not convenient, Ian?” Mickey asks, and the implication makes Ian’s temper rise higher. “You want me now because we’re cellmates and it’s easy. We can fuck as much as we want in here, y’know? It’s completely different outside these walls.”

Ian huffs, standing up and rolling his eyes. “It's not about that, first of all. Second of all, in what fucking universe was our relationship ever easy? You know I’m not the same guy I was when I broke up with you, or even when you crossed the border. I was adjusting and figuring out how to be a functioning human being. I’m not saying I haven’t slipped up. I‘m still a mess, but I also know more about who I am and what I want. And I know I never once stopped fucking loving you.”

Mickey is sitting with his legs hanging over the side of the bunk, watching Ian attentively. “You still love me?”

Ian stops dead in his tracks, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. He realizes that Mickey, in fact, is not in his head and has absolutely no idea just how in love Ian feels and has felt since the moment he first saw Mickey in their cell. It’s amazing that he can be feeling so much without Mickey having so much as a single fucking clue.

“Of course I love you,” Ian says. He takes a step closer to Mickey, sitting down beside him. Mickey looks at him, and Ian can see the apprehension in his eyes. “I'm so fucking in love with you, Mick.” 

A hint of a smile appears on Mickey’s face then, and Ian thinks that he can probably work with that. He kisses Mickey, pours his love into the movements of his mouth as he slides a hand gently down the side of his face. Mickey goes soft under Ian’s touch, and Ian decides that yeah, he can definitely work with that.

"I'll be your boyfriend on one condition," Mickey begins suddenly, breaking their kiss. Ian stares at him expectantly, somewhat taken aback. 

"What's the condition?" Ian asks hesitantly when Mickey doesn't answer right away.

"The condition is that we're shaving your fucking head tomorrow," Mickey reaches a hand up to Ian's hair, ruffling it with a coy smile. "And once your red hair is back, I might be in love with you, too."


End file.
